


Pictures of You

by Sarah K (tears_of_nienna)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Stark Expo, photo booth, semi-public makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/Sarah%20K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky wants a souvenir to take to war with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pictures of You

The Stark Expo is a mad crush of people--more people than Steve thought the city still held. Everyone wants to catch a glimpse of Mr. Stark's future, hoping that it's brighter than what they see on the newsreels.

It's a quarter to six when Bucky and Steve get there, but Bucky doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get to the fountain with its turning sculpture of the earth--the place where he said they'd be meeting the girls.

Steve starts to wonder if they're going to be late, or if the girls might have stood them up. He turns to Bucky to ask what's going on, and he's met with a sheepish grin.

"We're not meeting the girls till eight," Bucky admits. "I said six because I thought maybe you'd want to look around first, see what the future's going to be like."

Steve smiles. Bucky has always known him better than anyone else. 

They spend an hour wandering among the displays and demonstrations, taking in everything they can. It's all a lot of crowd and chrome and spectacle, but underneath it all are ideas that might really change things for the better. Maybe not the flashy hovering cars, but the airbags that would cushion a driver in case of a crash.

He's not an idiot. People with a medical history like his don't live to be a hundred and ten--he'll be lucky to see fifty. Mr. Stark's future looks nice, but Steve's not going to be around to see it. No jet-packs and flying cars for him. He knows that.

But _Bucky_ doesn't, or maybe he just won't admit it to himself. They haven't talked about it, the mights and the maybes. It's hard to think about things years down the line when one of you is going off to war and might not come back anyway.

The thought makes him wrap his coat more tightly around himself, shivering in a way that has nothing to do with the cool evening.

Bucky's eyes light up as he sees something across the crowded pavement. "Hey, come here." Without giving him a chance to reply, Bucky curls a hand around Steve's wrist and pulls him sideways through the flow of people, and then they turn upstream like a pair of salmon. He stops in front of a cubicle not much larger than a telephone booth and quickly drops Steve's hand.

Even the photo booth hasn't escaped the futuristic decorations, featuring chrome trim and a tall antenna on the top, flashing off and on to attract attention. The heavy black curtain is pushed back to reveal the empty seat within.

"Let's get our picture taken," Bucky says, nudging him forward with a warm hand at the small of his back.

Steve turns around, and Bucky's palm grazes his hip before he lets his hand fall--dangerous. "Are you _crazy_?" he mutters. "We can't go in there together. People are going to think--"

Bucky's grin is smug and sharp. "They're not gonna think anything. They don't have the imagination for it. Anyway, it's the future, right? Anything could happen."

" _Anything_ like you getting thrown out of the army and both of us being arrested?"

"You worry too much. I saw half the Rutgers football team cram themselves into one of these last week. Nobody arrested _them _."__

"I don't know, Buck..." 

Bucky sighs and buries his hands deep in his pockets. "Look, I just...I want to have something to take with me, you know? I don't have a single picture of you." 

He can hear the words that Bucky isn't saying, the words that mean he's been thinking about the future, too. _In case I don't come back. In case I never see you again. In case, in case, in case..._

Steve swallows hard and tries to sound casual. "All right, fine. But it better be _your_ two bucks." 

Bucky's grin could light up the whole damn city, and Steve couldn't refuse him anything even if he wanted to. He ducks into the booth while Bucky feeds two dollars into the machine and then slides in next to him. 

The two of them fit perfectly on the little bench, hip to hip, and Steve immediately doubts Bucky's story about the Rutgers team. A third person would be too many, let alone half a football team. 

In front of them, a tiny clock counts down. One picture every thirty seconds, four minutes total. How much trouble can they get into in four minutes? 

The clock ticks down under ten seconds, and Bucky slings an arm over his shoulder. "Smile," he says. "Give me something to think about in the trenches, huh?" 

"There aren't any _trenches_ anymore," Steve says, rolling his eyes, and that's when the flashbulb goes off and shutter clicks. 

"Aw, you wasted that one! Come on. Let's get this one right." 

Steve blinks away the afterimages and watches the clock tick down again. He smiles this time, knowing that this is how Bucky wants to remember him. The flash blinds him again, but he thinks it was a good enough picture. The clock resets. 

"Hey, Steve?" There's an edge of mischief in Bucky's voice. 

He turns his head, and Bucky kisses him. Right there in the booth, with only a flimsy curtain between them and the entire Stark Expo. The camera flashes, and Steve would be embarrassed if he wasn't clinging to the lapels of Bucky's uniform, pulling him closer as the camera flashes a fourth time--halfway finished. 

Bucky's hat tumbles onto his lap, Bucky's hands are in Steve's hair and there are voices outside, talking and laughing just inches away. This is a future Steve could grow to like. 

The sound of the shutter fades into the background, and the flash hardly matters now that his eyes are closed. Bucky's teeth graze Steve's lip, quick and sharp, just how he likes it. Steve wants so much more, wants to take Bucky apart with his hands and his mouth and let Bucky do the same for him, but there's no time and no room and ten thousand people on the other side of that thin black curtain... 

Bucky must have been keeping track of the shutter, because he pulls back long before Steve wants him to. "That's eight," he whispers. "Come on." He starts to stand up, changes his mind, and leans back in for one last, brief kiss. He straightens his uniform and pushes the curtain open. Steve follows him back out into the noise and bustle of the Expo. 

They stick close to the booth while they wait for the photos--not that anyone is paying attention to them, which is good because Steve knows his face is probably red, and his mouth is stinging and swollen where Bucky bit his lip. He raises his thumb to trace the mark there, and Bucky swears, watching him. 

"Don't _do_ that," he grits out. 

Steve just grins. The perfect knot of Bucky's khaki tie is a little bit askew, and Steve has to fight off the urge to reach up and fix it for him. He looks good in the uniform--he looks _amazing_ in it, and Steve allows himself exactly three seconds to think about how long it would take to get him out of it, to make Bucky wait and _wait_ while Steve unbuttoned each layer and peeled it away. Maybe he'll have a chance to find out tonight. 

He's glad that his coat is too big for him, and that Bucky's jacket is cut long over his hips. They might really be able to get away with this. 

A long strip of pictures slides out from a slot in the booth, and Bucky grabs them up before anyone can see. He leans close to Steve to show him. 

The first frame is blurry--Bucky's shaking his head and Steve's rolling his eyes--but the second is perfect. The two of them grinning at the camera, sharp and clear in sepia tones. 

The next six are varying degrees of pornographic. Bucky sighs and tears the first two pictures off the strip. "Probably shouldn't take these, huh? You keep 'em." He passes the last few damning frames back to Steve. "In case you forget how I look." 

"I won't." 

"In case you forget how I kiss, then," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

Steve shivers. "I _know_ I won't forget that." He tucks the photos into his coat pocket. "It's almost eight," he adds reluctantly. 

"We could ditch the girls and go home, you know. If you want." 

Steve shakes his head. "That wouldn't be right, standing them up." 

"I know. Guess we'll have to pick up where we left off later on, huh? We'll have plenty of time." 

Steve looks around at the future he'll never see. "Yeah," he lies. "We will." 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Photo booths existed in NYC as early as 1924, and usually took between three and eight photographs. The entire process could take around ten minutes. And yes, the booths were occasionally used by LGBT lovers for [secret souvenirs](http://www.reddit.com/r/pics/comments/11uct5/1953_photobooth_the_only_place_really_where/).
> 
> 2\. There _was_ actually some trench warfare in WWII, but the advances in airborne bombardment and paratrooper landings rendered it largely ineffective.


End file.
